


Only the dead have seen the end of war

by spiteandmalice



Category: American Made (2017), Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Can't escape each other's orbit, Exs, Kylux adjacent month, M/M, kylux adjacent, set immediately post Logan Lucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiteandmalice/pseuds/spiteandmalice
Summary: “What do you mean CIA?” Jimmy says slowly, the arm he has extended over the pork chops trembling slightly.Sylvia frowns. “It’s because of that bust in Wheeling? That’s why they’re around.”Clyde feels the tension drain from his body, and sees Jimmy visibly relax. They’re safe. The money is safe. It’s nothing to do with the heist.“Anyway, Jess says to this redhead guy-”The tension is back.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Clyde Logan/Monty Schafer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45
Collections: Into the Adjacentverse: Kylux Adjacents Month 2020





	Only the dead have seen the end of war

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Конец войны видели только мертвые](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558793) by [WTF Kylo and Hux 2021 (Our_Own_Star_Wars)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Our_Own_Star_Wars/pseuds/WTF%20Kylo%20and%20Hux%202021)



It’s a completely normal, routine Sunday and the Logans are having a barbeque. Clyde is drinking a beer and watching Jimmy flip the pork chops. Sylvia is talking to Mellie about something that happened nearby, but Clyde’s not really paying attention.

"Then Jess said to the guy ‘just because y'all are CIA-’”

The three Logan siblings turn as one.

“What do you mean CIA?” Jimmy says slowly, the arm he has extended over the pork chops trembling slightly.

Sylvia frowns. “It’s because of that bust in Wheeling? That’s why they’re around.” 

Clyde feels the tension drain from his body, and sees Jimmy visibly relax. They’re safe. The money is safe. It’s nothing to do with the heist.

“Anyway, Jess says to this redhead guy-”

The tension is back, Clyde fumbles with his beer bottle with his prosthetic, drops it onto the grass where it foams over his shoe.

“Which guy is this?” Mellie asks. 

Sylvia glares. “Are y’all not listening? The  _ redhead _ . CIA guy.”

Mellie shoots Clyde a pointed look he tries to ignore, instead he focuses on his beer spilling out onto the grass. There’s lots of redheads around, probably more than a handful in the CIA. It’s just a coincidence. 

“I'm listening, Auntie Sylvia.” Sadie pipes up.

“I know you are sweetheart.”

\---

Clyde’s glad he got some warning because when he walks into the Duck Tape later that night, Monty’s sitting right there at the bar.

Clyde hasn't seen him in four, maybe five years, but he looks much the same, a little older around the eyes perhaps, his hair a little longer than usual.

“Logan.”

“Monty.”

Monty licks his upper lip, puts his glass down.

“Restroom?”

Clyde points past the pool table. “Left of the jukebox.” 

Monty raises an eyebrow.

“Let me try that again.  _ Restroom _ ?” 

Clyde finally gets a clue. It was a suggestion, not a question.

“...yes.” 

“Good. See ya in two.”

Monty starts walking towards the restroom, a few people look curiously at him as he passes. The Duck Tape isn’t known for redheads from out of town walking across the bar floor like they own it.

Clyde takes Monty’s glass, puts it on the dishwasher rack and takes a deep breath. He’s done a lot of stupid things in the last few weeks because of the heist what’s one more? At least with the heist, he knew it’d go one of two ways: success or more prison time. 

But Monty’s a wild card, anything could happen.

As Clyde walks across the bar he feels every single person in the room knows exactly where he’s going and why, and his face burns with shame.

Monty’s leaning against the wall of a stall, kicking gently at the swinging door, looking bored. 

“Get on your knees, Logan.”

Clyde crowds Monty into the back of the stall before flicking the stall lock, and dropping to his knees. He bites back a curse when they hit the tiled floor with more force than he expected. He unbuttons Monty’s jeans one-handed and Monty looks down at him, amusement playing on his lips. Clyde wants to punch his mouth. He wants to kiss him. 

“Nice new hand.”

Clyde ignores him, yanks Monty’s jeans down past his knees.

“I missed you.” Monty murmurs while petting Clyde’s hair. It’s really distracting and Clyde wants to just stay here kneeling, being petted. Being wanted. It’s been too long, since he’s even gotten laid, never mind had Monty back in his life. 

Then Monty’s got one hand in Clyde’s hair guiding his mouth onto Monty’s cock, the other curling around the back of Clyde’s neck. It seems like Clyde’s muscles remember what to do even if his brain is still half melted from seeing Monty again. 

Monty smells strongly of generic hotel soap in the crease of his groin, as if he'd showered then come straight out to the bar. Like he knew Clyde would say yes.

Clyde always says yes.

Clyde bobs on his cock, and works one finger into him easily, finds him clean and slick. Monty mentioned once that he had been a boy scout. Monty’s said a lot of shit. Clyde adds another.

Monty’s fingers tighten in his hair when Clyde finds Monty’s prostate, pressing it with two fingertips. 

“C’mon, c’mon get up here and fuck me, Logan.” 

Clyde doesn’t need to be asked twice. 

Monty toes off his shoes and jeans, then digs in his jeans pocket and passes over a brand new tube of drug store lube with a bit missing and a condom. 

Clyde rolls the condom on, then lifts Monty up against the stall wall, and then lines his dick up. Monty digs his fingers into Clyde’s shoulder as he pushes in.

Clyde tries to go slowly but Monty's making these little grunts as he moves, angry hot huffs of breath against Clyde’s face with each thrust he takes, like he’s arguing without words. 

It’s been far too long, and Clyde hoists Monty up, then back down onto his dick and braces himself against the toilet wall and fucks up into him, again and again, slamming into Monty in a way he knows Monty’ll feel the next day. Clyde briefly wonders if the stall wall is strong enough for this. Guess he’ll find out. 

This is one of the few times he trusts Monty's expressions, when his face is slack with pleasure, eyes screwed shut, breath catching with each thrust. 

There's a new thin scar behind his ear, as if someone held a knife to his jugular and Clyde presses a kiss there. 

“What happened?”

Monty doesn't open his eyes. “Shit happened. Same as always.”

Monty kisses him then- to shut him up probably, and he tastes like beer and the Red Vines he eats when he’s driving. Clyde chases the sweet taste with his tongue until Monty’s groaning out his orgasm and Clyde follows a moment after, helpless in his own pleasure. 

He sets Monty back on the ground and he wobbles slightly and Clyde feels a flush of victory. Monty’s wiping his own stomach and hand with a wad of toilet paper and it’s suddenly gone from a pleasant catch up to a seedy encounter. 

Clyde sighs, dumps the condom in the toilet, presses the handle down with his foot, tugs his trousers up. 

Monty looks down at the toilet. "You're not meant to-"

“I know. If I need a plumber, I'll pay for a plumber.”

They stand there in awkward silence as Monty pulls his jeans back on, two strangers again.

Monty opens the stall door, squeezes past Clyde and puts one hand on the sink while he bends down to put his shoes on. They're lace-up Converse, not the type of shoe Monty normally wears. Now that he gets a good look at him, Clyde realises Monty's in disposable, anonymous clothing.

“What happened at Wheeling?”

Monty fiddles with his laces instead of replying for a moment, straightens the tongue, pushes the aglet through the top lace hole, ties them in a neat bow.

“What. Happened.” Clyde repeats.

Monty stands, grins brightly.

“Nothing to do with me. I just fancied some good ol' Allapacian hospitality, planning on grabbing some fresh peaches, maybe crab-”

“Bull-shit.” Clyde stretches the word out, watching Monty’s lip curl. “CIA shit goes down in my backyard, you appear the very next day and you've nothing to do with it?”

The door to the restroom opens, noise of the bar flowing in but the patron quickly backs away, shuts it again. 

Monty leans in for a kiss, but Clyde pushes him away.

“Fine Monty, don't tell me. Have a nice life.”

Clyde turns and leaves.

\----

Monty doesn't return to the bar the next night and Clyde tries not to give a shit, but he keeps his body turned to watch the door, tenses up everytime someone comes in. 

On Tuesday he closes up an hour early, it’s been a slow night. 

Monty's leaning on the hood of his car when he comes out.

“I don't want to talk to you.” Clyde calls out as he locks the bar door. As if that'd be enough to send Monty back to Langley, tail between his legs. 

“Don't  _ talk  _ to me then.”

Clyde unlocks the car and Monty gets in without being invited.

“Get out.”

“No.”

“I'll call Jimmy.” Clyde says and immediately flushes, a grown-ass man still hiding behind his big brother.

“Don't you  _ dare  _ call Jimmy.”

Jimmy and Monty once had a fistfight because Monty had broken Clyde's heart by vanishing on an op for six months when he had promised to stay.

He’d then turned up one morning as Jimmy and Clyde were making breakfast, strolled up to the trailer like he'd never left. Jimmy had run out and decked him before he could knock on the door.

Clyde thinks Monty had let him hit him. He hopes he did, it meant Monty knew he'd done wrong.

“I'm callin' Jimmy.” Clyde digs in his pocket for his cell and Monty snatches for it, leans over, braces his hand against Clyde’s thigh to reach up to it.

“I’ll do anything, just don’t ring fucking Jimmy, please.”

Clyde’s half-hard already, feeling stupid and reckless the way just being in Monty’s orbit always made him feel. 

“Blow me?” It feels like he's daring Monty to say no, to leave the car. But Monty never backs down, that's one of his problems. One of the many.

“Yeah, yeah I will, you fucker.”

Monty's hair looks dark under the yellow sodium lights of the parking lot and if Clyde wanted he could pretend this was someone else, a nobody passing through town he picked up at the bar, but it's  _ Monty _ and that makes it both so much better, and so,  _ so  _ much worse. 

He strokes Monty's hair and feels like a fool letting Monty near him again. Monty’s got a clever tongue and no gag reflex. Clyde’s never had anyone better. 

They'd met almost ten years ago, back when Clyde had both hands and Monty only lied out one side of his mouth at a time.

They'd first bumped into each other at a base food court in Norfolk, England of all places, Clyde waiting to ship out to Iraq, Monty pretending to be a civilian contractor, in a drab food court with a Subway that never had any pickles or chilli sauce. Fast forward two hours and Clyde was on his hands and knees in an office with the central heating cranked too high, sweating and begging Monty to fuck him harder.

It wasn’t until two months later Clyde was on a ride-along in Iraq, moving some prisoners to another base when he saw Monty. This particular base was CIA, only no-one called it CIA. He’d confronted Monty, and they’d ended up fucking on Monty’s desk, amongst aerial photos and scraps of intel Clyde shouldn’t have been anywhere near. 

The car windows are steamed up slightly, and world looks hazy in the darkness outside. Clyde briefly toys with the idea of starting the engine, of driving away, taking Monty with him, refusing to let him go. 

He’s close to coming now, and Monty’s nose is touching the dark hair at the base of Clyde’s cock now, and he’s groaning into each downward bob of his head, like sucking Clyde off was his favourite thing to do. 

Clyde comes and Monty swallows it all. Clyde passes Monty some chewing gum from the cupholder between them. 

Clyde reaches for Monty’s fly, but he bats him away. 

“I’m fine.”

“Stay the night?” 

“I can’t.”

“Would you, even if you could?”

“You of all people know the sacrifices we make for our country.” He grazes his fingers over Clyde’s prosthetic.

“That’s a cheap shot.”

“I know. But as Plato said:  _ ‘Only the dead have seen the end of war. _ ’ ”

He presses a minty kiss to Clyde’s mouth, pushes the car door open.

“See ya ‘round, Logan. Stay lucky.”

Then he’s gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2020's Kylux Adjacents Event.
> 
> Monty's Plato quote has been attributed to him many times in the 20th century, but not found in any of his works. It's probably BS, just like the rest of what Monty says. 
> 
> I'm on Twitter @spiteandmalice!


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